


just like live wires

by feathered (orphan_account)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: AU, Fluff, M/M, PWP, Porn with Feelings, Riding, actually it's more like, anyway, bottom!Louis, so much fluff oh my god, the end is almost too fluffy i disgust myself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-29
Updated: 2014-08-29
Packaged: 2018-02-15 05:58:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2218404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/feathered
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry climbs into Louis' bed when he's cold. Louis pines.</p>
            </blockquote>





	just like live wires

**Author's Note:**

> i promise someday i'll write something other than fluffy smut, but for now, here you go. (please ignore the overuse of italics and ellipses... it's a crutch.)
> 
> title from "the way we are" by kate boy
> 
> i'm on tumblr at [memedirection](http://memedirection.tumblr.com) if you want to hmu

It’s late November and there’s a layer of frost clouding the window panes when Harry wakes him up at 2:30 in the morning. He pulls the covers back and slithers underneath and the sharp point of his elbow jabs Louis in the spine.

“Budge over, Lou. Can’t sleep in fucking Siberia.”

The heat in their flat doesn’t work. His own body is a fleshy space heater but Harry’s bones are frozen and he wraps himself around Louis to thaw. Which Louis doesn’t normally mind; his curls are soft and his knits are cuddly and he smells like fruit.

But it’s 2:30 in the morning and Harry’s in his bed and he doesn’t like that. There’s a terrible burning in his veins and he wants to roll on top of him, press his body down, kiss those arctic lips until there’s nothing left but melt water. But he doesn’t know how well that would be received. He never knows.

“’arry gerrof me,” Louis bats his hands loosely in the air above him because maybe he’s still very much asleep.

Then Harry giggles whisper-soft and he’s very much awake.

Louis turns his head and sees green even in pitch dark, familiar eyes, perhaps more familiar than his own. But he’s stared into them more times than he can even be bothered to remember and they remain uncharted territory, infinite and unreadable.

Harry is his ice princess, porcelain and lovely and liquid-nitrogen skin. He keeps his heart locked tightly away, storied in an inaccessible deep-freeze and it’s maddening because Louis wants to possess it but he doesn’t quite know how. Especially not in the quiet still of early early morning, when all rationale takes an elaborate leap out the window and every nerve in Louis’ body is screaming to _taketaketake_ , all of him, everything.  

He only takes what Harry’s willing to give, a skewed line between platonic and non. But it’s really fucking hard when he’s curling his long body around Louis’, nose in his hair, feet tangling under sheets and he fits so perfectly against Harry’s broad chest and it’s comfortable and he smells fresh and clean and boy and _Harry_. He’s lightheaded and heavy-lidded and he knows he should pull away but he’d rather let himself be swallowed by Harry’s limbs. So he stays. But this is the last night, he promises himself that. Harry can just sleep with a fucking electric blanket, so long as he’s not crawling into Louis’ bed in the middle of the night to fuck with his brain and heart and everything else. Well, it’s probably not intentional but the fact remains.

An icy palm lays flat on the soft of his tummy and Louis sucks in a sharp gasp. “ _Jesus_ , Harry,” he hisses through teeth that are tightly gritted from shock but mostly because Harry’s hand is resting on his bare lower  abdomen and why does he have to _do_ that?

“Shhh, Lou, sleep now,” Harry’s warm breath tickles the back of his neck and long fingers are tracing idle patterns on his hipbone.

But Louis doesn’t sleep. He lies awake because he’s painfully hard in his sweatpants and it’s not like there’s anything he can do about it, not with Harry snoring softly beside him, arms a viselike grip. He hates Harry. He really fucking hates him.

~

When morning finally comes Louis finds Harry eating a frozen chocolate-chip waffle at the breakfast counter and he greets him with a peck on the cheek but nothing more than that. He wants Harry to bend him over that counter. He takes a shower instead. And he definitely doesn’t get himself off with the image of Harry’s sleep-rumpled form projected onto the insides of his eyelids. He doesn’t slide his back down wet tiles, sinking to the floor, breath ragged and hands wringing through his hair. He doesn’t dig blunt fingernails into slippery flesh because how the _fuck_ is this fair? He doesn’t do any of that.

And when he returns to the kitchen, towel around his waist, hair dripping water down his cheekbones and Harry gives him a bright smile, looking like a goddamn peach, he doesn’t furrow his eyebrows and retreat to his bedroom, slamming the door behind him. He doesn’t see the crestfallen expression on Harry’s face. He doesn’t choke a sob into his pillow.

~

It’s night again and Harry’s there, chewing warily on his bottom lip and toeing the edge of Louis’ bed.

“Lou, did I…” his hands are clasped behind his back and he looks really small, sixteen again. “Did I do something? To make you- are you mad at me?”

And Louis forgets that he isn’t supposed to let Harry back into his bed, forgets because his heart is sodden with guilt and he needs to wring it out. So he shakes his head slightly, almost imperceptibly, but he knows Harry sees it because his features soften and his hands fall against his sides. He’s waiting for some sort of invitation, so Louis stretches his right arm to pat the vacancy in the mattress beside him, knowing he’s walking straight off the cliff of relative sanity. But before he really has an opportunity to second-guess anything, Harry is slipping underneath the quilted cocoon and pressing himself up against Louis’ back.   He feels the deep contraction of his chest as he exhales heavily, trapped air escaping.

“You know you can always tell me if you are,” Harry’s breath tiptoes down his spine. “Mad, that is.”

And Louis thinks, no.  No he really can’t.

But he nods anyway and squeezes the tips of Harry’s fingers. Reassurance.

“Mmmm,” Harry hums and the sound vibrates against Louis’ skin. “You’re the best mate anyone could ask for, you know? The absolute _best_ ,” he presses a feather light kiss to the back of Louis’ skull. _Best mate._ Each word is a bullet wound.

But there’s still a warm body at his back, buzzing with _HarryHarryHarry_ and heartbeat bumping against his spine and every cell in Louis’ body is saturated with want, hypertonic and near to bursting. Harry tangles their fingers and bonds form in the spaces between, an interlocking crystalline structure that Louis couldn’t break if he tried. He manages to drift off without getting embarrassingly hard, squeezing his eyes shut and trying his best not to feel while macabre scenarios churn in his brain.

It works well enough but it won’t work indefinitely.

~

Louis gets a sharp jab to the shoulder and he groans inwardly because Harry’s there like he always fucking is. He hasn’t even opened his eyes yet but he’s frustrated and fuming because he doesn’t want Harry in his bed, not again. Well, he _wants_ Harry in his bed but not in the way that Harry does and that aches more than it should.

He’s not going to let him, he decides. He’s going to tell him to fuck off and he’ll deal with the consequences later – it sounds much better than dealing with the consequences now, Harry wrapped all around him and practically drawing blood from his own lip so he doesn’t just tear into that milky skin, take him apart piece by piece.

“Harry, just, please-“

He stops because he chokes. Not in the figurative sense.

He swallows wrong and he tries desperately to cough out the saliva in his lungs. Harry’s looming over him, wearing nothing but a pair of charcoal sweatpants that hang low low low, barely clinging to the twin curves of jutting bone.

 _Shit_.

Louis utters a pained little squeak that he doesn’t have time to be embarrassed about and buries his face in the worn cotton pillowcase. He can feel Harry’s eyes slipping over his form – the confusion in them is almost audible.

“Lou? You okay?”

“Yep,” Louis croaks, all pillow-muffled. “Peachy.”

Except he’s not. He wants Harry to fuck him into the ugly carpet and he’s very _not_ okay, much less _peachy_. (Really, why the fuck did that even come out of his mouth?) He’s really fucking hard, is what he is. It’s a small blessing that he sleeps on his stomach.

“So lemme in then.”

 _Fuck_ , his voice is all sleep-clouded and gravelly and really that just isn’t fair.

Louis doesn’t answer, opting to release a whine into his pillow instead. He really hopes Harry takes that as a _no_. He doesn’t, of course, persistent little shit that he is.

“C’mon Lou, you can be big spoon.”

Louis doesn’t _want_ to be big spoon. He doesn’t want to be big spoon, little spoon or _any_ spoon, for that matter. He just wants Harry and his long, half-naked body as far away from him as possible. Well, no, he doesn’t, but what else is there, really.

There’s Harry climbing into his bed anyway, apparently.

He makes a frustrated little huff when Louis doesn’t immediately cuddle up to him and really, he should’ve seen this coming. He thinks he’s accepted the reality of the situation – to an extent – because he lies pliant while Harry maneuvers him so that he’s curved around Harry’s body, scrunched up to fit against Louis’ chest. Louis sighs heavily and presses himself flush and, well, there it is.

Harry freezes.

Louis squeezes his eyes shut and holds his breath because Harry can definitely feel him, _so_ hard against his back, and this is where things either go very right or horribly, horribly wrong.

After what feels like an hour – but was probably less than five seconds – Harry slowly shifts and turns so that they’re facing each other, heads laying parallel on the same pillow. His eyes are wide and _green_ and his voice catches as it crawls up his throat and Louis’ heart is punching at his ribcage.

“Louis, is that – I mean – did I…?”

Louis swallows. “Yeah.”

He thinks it sounds more like a squeak than an actual word and he also thinks Harry’s pupils dilate almost to the edge of his irises as soon as the squeak is through.

“ _Fuck._ ”

And faster than he can even _blink_ , he’s being pulled – _much_ less gently this time – so that his thighs are spread across Harry’s hips. Louis’ stomach swoops because he’s hard too and that’s, well.

There are fingers threading in his hair and yanking him down, face to face, heavy breaths mingling in what space there is between them. Harry’s eyes are _darkdarkdark_ and his lips are cherry-popsicle red and he wants them all over him, _so badly_ –

“Jesus, Lou, you’re so fucking _fit_ …wanted…so long…”

Harry doesn’t finish his thought and Louis really couldn’t give one fuck about that because there are lips on his own, then, hot and insistent.

Harry kisses like he talks, slow and rough, with a sort of eloquence that Louis isn’t really sure how to describe. His head is spinning with it though, Harry’s tongue against the roof of his mouth, licking like he’s never wanted anything else. And maybe he _hasn’t_ wanted anything else, Louis thinks, burying his hands in Harry’s mop of curls, fingernails digging into his scalp.

He fucking _purrs_ , at that, and Louis’ skin prickles all over.

“Why didn’t you,” Louis pulls away with a gasp and Harry starts mouthing along the underside of his jaw, down his neck. “Why didn’t you just _tell_ me – _shit_.” He sucks in a breath as Harry nips at his collarbone.

Harry looks at him, then, with hazy-eyes and swollen lips. “No fucking clue.”

Louis almost laughs, because he really is _so fucking dumb_ , but then Harry’s sucking a bruise into his collarbone and he’s not laughing anymore. His head spins with Harry’s name, Harry’s mouth, hot and sugar-sweet, Harry’s hands splaying across the soft of his hips, slipping down the navy cotton that fits snugly over his ass.

“ _Fuck,_ just take these _off_ …”

He squeezes roughly and one cheek is fitted to each of Harry’s hands and Louis actually can’t breathe.

Somehow – Louis isn’t exactly sure _how_ , with their limbs tangled like this – Harry manages to get Louis’ pants all the way off and then there are hands are back on his ass, spreading his cheeks slightly, a finger brushing against his hole. Louis shivers.

“Wanna fuck you… _Christ_ , please say you’ll let me fuck you,” Harry’s voice has gone deeper than Louis’ ever heard before and he feels drunk from the sound of it. His mouth is making its way down Louis’ chest, leaving a trail of spit that should probably be disgusting but only ends up making him unbearably hot. That sensation is rivaled only by the languid drag of Harry’s tongue over one of his nipples, which has his back curving into a deep arch and eyelids fluttering shut. Harry must take note of his reaction because he latches on immediately, swirling his tongue around the bud. Louis moans high in his throat and he’s pretty sure he’s never been this hard in his _life_. Harry seems pretty intent on ignoring his cock, too, touching Louis everywhere _except_ the one place he really needs it. Louis shakes his head slightly – looks like fucking him won’t make Harry any less of a little shit. Still.

“ _Yes_ ,” Louis whines as Harry bites down on his nipple and spreads his cheeks further, grinding his still-clothed erection against Louis’ bare ass. “Fuck me… swear to god… Harry, _please_ …”

“Shit, Lou…” Harry growls and tosses Louis off of him, making quick work of shucking his sweats. His cock bobs free, slapping wetly against his belly, and Louis can _feel_ himself salivating. It’s so lovely and so _big_ and Louis wants it inside of him more than he wants to breathe.

“Got anything?” Harry asks, an almost desperate edge to his voice.

Louis nods furiously, scooting up so that his back is pressed against the wall. “Dresser. Top drawer.”

Harry practically leaps the seven foot distance from the bed to Louis’ shoddy old dresser and starts rummaging loudly. Louis takes the opportunity to get a hand around himself because he feels like he might die, actually.

“No condoms?”

“Ran out…” Louis sighs as he thumbs over the head of his cock. It’s a lie – there’s an unopened box sitting on the sink in the attached bathroom – but all of a sudden the thought of feeling Harry bare inside him, filling him up in more ways than one, has Louis’ stomach swooping and his cock spilling slick over the backs of his fingers. “But… m’clean, so you can… I mean… if you want…”

Harry turns to face him and Louis thinks his eyes look almost as wild as his hair. He’s _so_ beautiful and Louis is _so_ gone.

“ _Fuck_ , Louis. Yes, I… yes. We can… yeah.”

He grabs the little bottle of lube that he’d set on top of the dresser and then he’s striding back over to the bed. He kneels so that he’s hovering over Louis, the mattress dipping a bit beneath his weight, and even though Harry isn’t _that_ much bigger than him, not really, he feels very small, like Harry’s body could completely swallow his own. He thinks he’d really like it to.

Harry is very still above him, and he’s staring like he’s just been introduced to one of the Seven Wonders of the World. (Louis tries not to let that go to his head.) It gets to his head in a different way, however, how close Harry is; the familiar scent of fruity shampoo and vanilla candles floating over him in an invisible cloud, making him dizzy. He smells like _Harry_ and Louis wants to bury himself in his skin.

Harry glances down then, to where Louis’ hand is still sliding up and down the length of his cock. His fingers wrap around Louis’ wrist – Louis tries not to think about how they can easily encompass its entire circumference – and he removes his hand, laying it gently on the mattress beside his thigh. He leans forward slightly, kisses Louis’ sweaty hairline and whispers, “Don’t want you to touch yourself, want you to come without it, just my cock inside you. Can you do that for me?”

The combination of sweetness and filth has Louis letting out a soft moan.

“Baby…” Harry almost whispers, running his hands down Louis’ sides, over the smooth curve of his hips. Everywhere he touches feels electric and Louis has a difficult time keeping himself from busting a nut at the word _baby_. “Sound so lovely,” he continues, nudging Louis’ thighs further apart so he can slot between them. “Don’t be quiet, okay? Wanna hear you.”

Louis nods and whimpers a little bit, far past the point of being embarrassed about it. Harry’s got one slick finger pressed against him, then, and Louis’ eyes almost roll completely back. It’s actually a bit funny, he thinks, that he didn’t even see Harry uncap the bottle of lube – much less coat his fingers with it – so either Harry’s a lot smoother than he appears, or Louis is a little too far gone. He thinks the latter is more plausible, since he doesn’t remember Harry ever having any game. But then again, with the way he’s just massaging the pad of his index finger over Louis’ rim, not deigning to go any further, it’s entirely possible that Harry could drive him to beg. (Which he resolutely never does, so okay, maybe Harry has _some_ game.)

He really doesn’t want it to come to that but there’s only so much teasing he can take before he’s physically _aching_ from how much he wants Harry’s fingers inside. So he swallows his stubborn pride, wiggles his hips a bit, and utters a barely audible, “Please…”

Harry grins likes that’s exactly the reaction he was hoping for – fuck him, _honestly_ – and smoothly slides his finger into Louis.

“Fuck, Harry… _shit_ ,” he gasps, his mouth falling open. Harry takes the opportunity to lean in and bite Louis’ bottom lip, pulling him into a messy kiss, all tongue and hot breath, punctuated by the muted squelching sound that Harry’s finger makes as he fucks it in and out. It feels like – well it feels like nothing else, really. Harry’s fingers are long and deft and he hasn’t been properly fucked in a while so it burns a bit, but it’s such a lovely burn that Louis immediately wants more. He doesn’t want to stop kissing Harry though – mostly because he’s knotted his hands in his hair and it’s made Harry melt against him, exhaling soft little moans into his mouth – so he digs his fingernails into Harry’s scalp and moves his hips insistently, hoping that he’s gotten his message across.

Harry may not be the Master of the Game but luckily he’s not completely obtuse. He adds a second finger, then a third, until he’s hitting Louis’ prostate with each thrust and it feels so overwhelmingly good that Louis thinks he’d rather like to live with Harry’s fingers in his arse. He also thinks he could come just from this, which is, well, it’s a bit embarrassing, actually.

“Stop, stop… don’t wanna come like this… want you inside me…” Louis manages to get out, surprised at how breathless he sounds. Harry is equally as breathless though, so he supposes it’s okay. He untangles his hands from Harry’s hair just as Harry slips his fingers from inside him and they both whine softly at their respective losses. Louis can’t believe just how _empty_ he feels, his hole clenching around nothing but sweaty air, and he really needs that feeling to go away right the fuck _now_. He needs Harry to have fucked him like, yesterday, essentially.

Harry _licks_ his fingers then, the fingers that he’d just been fucking into Louis, and _Christ_ , he can taste him there and that’s _it_. Louis doesn’t even attempt the mask the neediness in his voice when he says, “Please, Harry… fuck me… _please…_ ”

“Fuck, can I just…” Harry’s hands wind around the slimmest part of Louis’ waist and he flips them so that Louis’ up on his knees above him, thighs bracketing Harry’s hips and _oh_. This could definitely work.

Louis just stares at Harry for a moment, then. He can see the sweat in his hair and the sweat on his skin, flushed and fever hot and _so_ lovely, eyes hooded and dark, rich green, tattoo ink shining like it’s been glossed in varnish, and he thinks he’s never looked this devastatingly beautiful. (He also thinks he might be a little bit in love with him, but he’ll deal with that after he’s been fucked.)

He’s about to tell Harry as much – the ‘you look so gorgeous’ part, not the ‘I may be in love with you’ part – but Harry beats him to it, his voice a rough, debauched mess.

“Fuck, look at you… you’re gorgeous, Lou… fucking _perfect_ …” Harry looks up at him like he’s just seen God. He’s got one hand squeezing at Louis’ bum while he slicks himself up with the other. Louis swallows hard.

“Tell me about it, stud,” Louis replies with a quick wink. His delivery would’ve been considerably less shaky if not for Harry’s thick, lubed-up cock pressing insistently against him, but Harry barks one of his endearing Harry-laughs anyway. Louis’ heart flips in his chest, knocking against his ribcage like it’s trying to leave a bruise.

“Shut up,” Harry giggles quietly and Louis’ stomach swoops. His hand splays across the back of Louis’ neck and he’s being pulled so that their foreheads are pressing gently together, heavy breaths mingling in the space between. He’s not quite sure why he keeps his eyes open when Harry kisses him, but he’s glad he does because Harry’s are open too, and he can see pretty speckles of gold across green irises. He’s sort of mildly blown away that’s he’s never noticed that before, but then, he’s never kissed Harry before. And that’s exactly it – everything about this is new and almost surreal and Louis feels electrified by it all; the way Harry’s lips are _so_ soft and warm against his own, his fingers twisting in the curly wisps at the nape of Louis’ neck, the faint banana taste that clings to Harry’s tongue – because he’s probably eaten one within the hour, even though it’s past 3 in the fucking morning – and especially, _especially_ , the way his long body is spread out beneath him, naked and flushed and wanting. It’s like there’s a zinging current at every junction where their bare skin meets, live wires connecting, and Louis shivers from it.

He can also feel the gravity of this situation, of what’s about to happen, settling over them both like condensation on glass. It’s overwhelming but Harry’s eyes are wide and honest and he may have never noticed the gold before but they still feel like home and Louis knows that nothing will ever be more right than this.

There are lips at his ear, then, and Louis thinks that if sex could talk, it would sound like Harry’s next words.

“Gonna ride me nice and hard? Make yourself come for me?” He nips at Louis’ earlobe and his entire body convulses. And, well.

In lieu of a response, Louis inhales deeply and sinks down onto Harry’s cock in one smooth glide. It feels sort of like being struck by lightning in the most wonderful way. (Not that Louis knows much of anything about lightning strikes but he can’t think of any other way to describe it, really.) He’s just so _full_ , and it’s like every single one of his nerve-endings is vibrating with _Harry,_ inside him and on him and all around him and _everything_. He has to remind himself to breathe as he settles himself against Harry’s hips, adjusting to the lovely slow-burn inside him.

“Fuck, _Louis_ , you’re so…” Harry doesn’t finish because his mouth drops into a long “O” shape, hanging open in a silent groan. He’s got both of his eyes screwed shut which is causing his brows to furrow and Louis has the sudden urge to plant a light kiss on each eyelid. He doesn’t get the chance though, because just as he’s leaning forward Harry’s big, warm hands are gripping his ass again, spreading his cheeks and bringing him closer like he’s trying to get as deep as he can and that’s just, _fuck_. Louis whines and pulls at his own hair.

“Can you… _shit_ … can you move?”

“I… yeah…” Louis nods quickly, digging his fingers into Harry’s shoulder blades before lifting himself up slightly, hissing at the drag. He mouths _I love you_ just before he sinks back down because Harry’s eyes are still closed and he can. His bum slaps against Harry’s hips, then, and Harry snaps his eyes open and bangs his head against the wall. Louis would laugh at him if it weren’t for the fact that he literally feels like he’s on fire, Harry’s cock pressing against him in all the right places, his palms like branding irons on the meat of his arse. Harry doesn’t seem phased by his brief run-in with the plaster, however, he just stares up at Louis with glazed eyes that are telling him to _take_ , take like he’s wanted to do for so many months.

So Louis does.

He attaches his lips to the underside of Harry’s jaw and sucks, _hard_ , as he starts rocking his hips in earnest. Harry groans loudly and Louis hears his head hit the wall again. He’s probably going to have a chestnut-sized lump on the back of his skull after this; Louis can’t quite find it in him to be concerned though, because Harry’s begun to thrust his hips up roughly, meeting him halfway. The slap of their skin sounds loud and _dirty_ , cutting through the quiet still of early morning, and Louis feels like the earth is, quite literally, shattering around him.

Harry slows his movements, all of a sudden, and Louis is about to whine in protest but then he’s being pulled so that their chests are flush, Harry’s dick driving in _so_ deep. He feels it brush against his prostate and it’s almost enough to make him _cry_ , his vision going momentarily white. His thighs are starting to shake so he stops trying to support himself, slumping against Harry’s body as Harry grinds into him, slow and absolutely _filthy_. He keeps Louis close, his cock never quite letting up on Louis’ prostate, and Louis feels like he’s burning from the inside out but he never wants it to stop.

“You’re so beautiful like this… so beautiful _all the time_ … feel so good… _Christ_ , Louis, ‘ve thought about this so much,” Harry’s voice rumbles in his ear. Louis shivers and tightens around him, which makes Harry moan loudly and rake his fingernails down Louis’ back.

“Yeah? Thought about getting your cock inside me?” Louis’ voice is _so_ wrecked, he thinks he barely sounds _human_.

“You – _fuck_ – you have no idea…” Harry manages to choke out, digging his fingers into the fleshiest part of Louis’ hips, his thrusts getting harder and more erratic. Louis can tell he’s close, which is really fucking great, actually, since he’s just about there himself. He doesn’t even feel the need to get a hand around himself, thinks he could come just from the relentless pressure on his prostate and the drag of his cock along Harry’s stomach.

“I’ve thought about you too… _so_ much… every time I use my fingers… imagine it’s you… your cock splitting me open…”

“ _Louis_ …” Harry practically sobs, head tipped back and hips stuttering. He’s coming, then, and _fuck_ , Louis can feel it, warm and wet and pulsing inside him – Christ, Harry is _coming inside him_ – and that does it. Louis whimpers and comes harder than he thinks he ever has, spilling over both of their stomachs until his entire body is shaking.

They stay like that as they both come down, Louis in Harry’s lap, slowing heartbeats thrumming in unison, breathing in the sweat on each other’s skin. Louis isn’t particularly keen on moving ever, but his come is starting to dry into a sticky mess on their chests and the burn in his arse is becoming increasingly less desirable, so Harry lifts him up and slides gently out. Louis whines softly at the sudden emptiness, but it quickly devolves into a low moan as he feels Harry’s come start to drip down his inner thighs. Which, okay. That’s definitely the hottest sensation he’s ever experienced.

Harry shifts Louis off his lap so that he’s lying up against the pillows. He pushes the sweaty fringe off his forehead and then he’s looking down at Louis with such a fond expression that he’s afraid his heart might literally burst, his tongue tingling with _iloveyouiloveyouiloveyou._ He reaches up and pokes one of Harry’s dimples instead. Harry turns pink and giggles quietly and Louis is hit with an assault of butterflies in his tummy.

“I’ll get us something to clean up with,” Harry whispers and it floats over Louis like a soft melody. He wants to wrap himself in it and fall asleep.

He watches with slightly drooping eyes as Harry maneuvers off the mattress and lopes toward the bathroom, admiring the way his skin seems almost iridescent in the pale-gray light that filters through the window shades. About halfway there he trips over one of Louis’ shoes that’s strewn across the floor, stumbling forward and swaying a little bit before catching himself, legs spread wide and knees turned in. Louis stifles a giggle because his awkward, gangly limbs make him look a lot like a baby giraffe. He stifles another giggle because he’s really fucking in love with this baby giraffe-boy. It figures.

Harry returns with a damp cloth and Louis’ body sags into the sheets as he gently wipes over every inch of his skin, collarbones to ankles, planting featherlight kisses its wake. Louis preens under his warm, tender touch and it leaves him feeling all tingly, like he might just completely disintegrate. He smiles sleepily – Harry’s taking such good care of him and normally he would mind that kind of thing, but it’s as if all the cheek and sarcasm has been fucked out of him. He just feels sort of floaty and a lot wonderful, and even though neither he nor Harry have said anything close to it, he’s never felt more loved.

Harry finishes with Louis and proceeds to quickly clean himself, tossing the rag aimlessly onto the floor when he’s done. Louis thinks he sees it land on that offending shoe.

He leans down and cradles Louis’ face in his giant palms, kisses him like he’s the most precious thing on earth. It’s so soft and sweet and lovely and he already tastes familiar – already tastes like home. Louis hums his happiness into Harry’s mouth.

“You can still be big spoon, if you want,” Harry says when he pulls away. His eyes are big and sparkly and Louis can’t stop staring at the little gold flecks.

Louis shakes his head minutely. “No, I- I like being little spoon.”

His body feels like an absolute ragdoll at this point, so he’s immeasurably glad when Harry just gathers him up in his arms and curves himself around Louis’ back. It’s such a familiar position but it feels all new, somehow. Harry is still solid and broad and warm behind him and he still smells like fruit, but he also smells a little bit more like Louis and a lot more like sex. It’s more tangible this time, he thinks, more permanent. He likes that.

“’Night, Lou,” Harry whispers into his hair and he can feel the vibrations against his skull. He kisses the same spot once, twice, three times, like he’s trying to lull Louis to sleep. His breathing slows and evens out before Louis has the chance to reply, but he does anyway.

“Night, Harry.” And just because they’re caught in those time-suspending early morning hours and he’s feeling bold, he tacks on a whisper-soft, _I love you_.

He drifts to sleep with their fingers laced together and Harry’s heartbeat drumming against his spine.

~

Louis wakes up the next morning (afternoon?) to an empty space beside him and a Post-it note stuck to his forehead. He plucks it off, mildly confused, but smiles fondly when he sees Harry’s loopy handwriting scrawled across the yellow paper.

_Louis-_

_Went out to get us some things for breakfast, in case you wake up before I’ve returned. And also, I heard what you said last night… I love you too :)_ _  
_

_P.S. I’m glad you lied about the condoms ;)_

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
